


Through His Eyes

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Self Esteem Issues, Smut, body image issues, overweight reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love talking to you. I love seeing you smile. And yes, you’re beautiful, on the inside and out. But I swear on the gates of Heaven,” he holds his hand over his chest like he’s making an oath, “you are absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous and that’s the least interesting thing about you.”  </p>
<p>His face is honest and open, you know this isn’t him being over the top, no Trickster grandiose words. This is true, it’s how he feels, and you believe him. You try to open your mouth to speak but there’s nothing there, so you close it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through His Eyes

Cooking is relaxing. That’s not something you ever thought before, but there it is. Not like you had much reason to cook before now, being single doesn’t usually require hours in the kitchen for meals. And besides, it never really was your thing, but with nothing much else to do you find yourself on Pinterest more and more. And Lord knows you can’t be on Pinterest for more than a minute without seeing a recipe, so you finally gave in and tried one. To your surprise Sam and Dean had raved over it, which made you want to try another, and another, and so on. (Truth be told they aren’t hard to please, but it’s still fun seeing them close their eyes when they bite into something you made.) 

How long ago was that first recipe? Two months? Three? It’s strange how time seems to crawl and fly by at the same time. You thought it would be like a vacation, the Winchesters promising to keep you safe from the demons who wiped out your family in search of something magical in your lineage, but after a week you realised it wasn’t as relaxing as it was boring. 

Being stuck in the bunker for months is boring, there’s no other way to describe it. You can only read so much. You’re alone a lot, Sam and Dean leaving on hunts all too often. Cas pops in occasionally, but he’s not much for conversation. More and more often Gabriel shows up with movies, popcorn (caramel corn usually), and loads upon loads of junk food. The archangel seeming to sense your boredom and trying to fill some of your lonely hours. 

But right now you’re not bored. Music is playing on your portable speaker while you sway your hips around the kitchen. You searched Pinterest and finally settled on a recipe for the crock pot. It’s been on low and has cooked all day, and now you’re making cookies so they’ll be fresh for after dinner. 

“What’s that smell?” Dean’s low voice cuts into your thoughts as he strolls in, pulling a beer from the fridge. 

“Cookies,” you say, pulling a sheet from the oven.

Dean tries to grab one and instantly jerks his hand back with a hiss. 

“Seriously? You can’t wait? They’re 350 degrees right now,” you laugh. 

“Fine then, gimme some cookie dough,” Dean tries to swipe his finger through the bowl before you snatch it away. 

“No way, you’ll get food poisoning!” 

“Whatever,” Dean ducks around you to grab the bowl, “like you haven’t had any?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” you shove a spoon toward him, “here, at least use this. No telling where your hands have been.”

“Oh I could tell, but I don’t think you want to know,” he shoots you a wink as he wraps his mouth around the spoon with a moan. “God, I love your cooking.”

“Technically it’s not even cooked.” Your phone dings with a text and Dean snatches it when you grab for it.

“Oh gross,” he says, his mouth full of cookie dough, “ _You look so good in that apron. I could eat you up, sweet cheeks,”_ he says in a mock voice, his nose crinkling in disgust. “Gabriel’s flirting is horrible.”

Your face flames red and you roll your eyes, yanking your phone back from him. “He’s not flirting, shut up.”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that,” Dean shoves another spoonful in his mouth and shrugs, “but he definitely is.” 

You toss your phone on the counter and pull the bowl away from Dean. “Give me that before you eat it all.”

“Don’t get mad at me, just callin’ it like I see it.” 

“Well you’re seeing it wrong. We’re friends, that’s it,” you say as you move the cookies to a cooling rack. 

“Whatever, he always flirts with you,” Dean swigs his beer. 

You scrunch up your nose, cookie dough and beer has to be a nasty combination. “He flirts with everyone, Dean.”

“No, not like he does you,” Dean points at you with his beer bottle, “guy’s got a thing for you.”

You shake your head, laughing it off. “I don’t think I’m his type.” You don’t really want to have this conversation. You’ve been trying to talk yourself out of a growing crush on the archangel for weeks, what Dean is saying isn’t helping. 

_Don’t get your hopes up, Gabriel wouldn’t be seriously interested in you,_ you remind yourself.

“I doubt he’s got a _type,_ ” Dean says, looking through the cabinets. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Food,” he shoves some boxes of cereal out of the way, “I’m hungry.”

“Eat an apple, dinner will be ready in a little bit.”

Dean’s face is appalled when he looks at you. “An apple? I don’t eat apples unless they’re in pie. Speaking of, when are you gonna make me a pie?”

“I’ve tried, I can’t get the crust right. I think I need lard. Pick some up the next time you guys are on a hunt.”

“Done,” Dean strolls towards the door, “just promise me one thing.”

You sigh as you turn around to face him. “What’s that?”

“Don’t get involved with him. I’d hate to have to kill him if he hurts you.”

You smile softly. “That’s a nice thought, but he wouldn’t want me anyway, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head at you before he walks out of the kitchen. 

And then it’s just you and the music and your cookies again. You close your eyes and push away those nagging thoughts of Gabriel. You know you’re not his type, you spent enough time watching his porn in your first few weeks here. That’s when the crush on him was new and fun, before watching him with other women made you feel a little sick to your stomach. You’d stopped watching after that, hoping it would help calm your crush, but it hadn’t. The butterflies in your stomach went crazy when he was around, and nothing you did seemed to help. 

“Mmm Mmm, you do look tasty in that apron.”

His voice comes from behind and startles you, making you bump your arm on the oven door as you close it. “Shit!” Your forearm has a red line up the side of it instantly, the burn hurting like a bitch.

Gabriel is in your space the next second. “Tsk Tsk,” he chastises, “you’ve gotta be more careful. We can’t have you burning that beautiful skin.” He pulls your hand to his lips and kisses it as his palm slides up your forearm.

A warm tingle slides over your nerves as the burn heals, but you don’t notice, lost in those whiskey colored eyes looking back at you. He drops your hand finally, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. 

“What’cha cookin’, good lookin’?”

You shake your head at his silliness, turning back to the counter to start cleaning up your mess. 

“The last of the cookies just went in the oven, and I’ve got spinach tortellini in the crock pot. There’s a salad in the fridge ready to go, and I’m going to toast a little Italian bread with garlic butter as soon as the cookies are done. You hungry?”

“You lost me after cookies, sorry kiddo. But I’ll definitely be a taste tester for anything in the cookie family,” he grabs a cookie off the cooling rack and takes a bite before you can protest.

“Hey! Those are still hot!” You swat at him with a kitchen towel.

“Perks of being an angel, I’m immune to burns from anything fresh baked,” he winks. “Ohhhhhhh,” he closes his eyes as he tastes the cookie, “you are after my heart, aren’t you.”

It's not a question, it’s just a figure of speech, but you turn away from him none the less. You don’t want him to see you blushing as you wipe down the counter. 

“Lemme ask you something,” he says, stealing another cookie before he hops up on the counter to sit.

“You’re gonna have flour on your butt,” you try to hide your smile as you move down the counter cleaning. 

“For shame, white makes my butt look big,” he feigns horror.

_He has the perfect butt and he knows it,_ you think.

“What do you want to ask?” You don’t look at him. It’s so hard to make eye contact with him lately, you can’t do it without thinking about kissing him. 

“Something I overheard you say to Dean,” he grabs another cookie and you finally take the tray out of his reach. 

“What’s that?” Who knows what he heard you and Dean talking about, there’s no telling. 

“Something along the lines of, he wouldn’t want me anyway?”

You freeze for a second, and then try to play it off, glancing up at him with a forced smile. “Dean was teasing me, he said something about you flirting with me. I just told him I didn’t think I was your type, that’s all.”

“Oh really,” he cocks an eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable. “And what exactly is my type?”

You focus on a particular spot on the counter, trying to rub a hole through it. _Shit._ You don’t like where this conversation is going. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” _if I act like I’m really busy maybe he’ll go away_ , “I think I need to check on the cookies, I don’t want to burn you.”

He looks at the stove beside him and then back at you. “I’ll be fine.”

You nod, peeking in the oven door. The cookies have only been in there a few minutes, they’re nowhere near done and you know it. 

“So?” He asks.

“Looks like they need a few more minutes.” You move to the crock pot and shut it off, lifting the lid to let some of the heat out.

“Yeah, I figured,” he hops off the counter and moves closer to you. Not like he was when he healed your arm, but close enough that it makes those butterflies stir. “Not what I meant though. Are you gonna answer my question or not?”

He leans his hip into the counter, casual, never taking his eyes off of you. You really don’t want to answer this question, it seems like it might open a door that you won’t be able to close, but you don’t see a way out. 

You don’t look at him but you finally settle on an vague answer. “I don’t know, blonde maybe? Or brunette, maybe a red head.”

“So that’s my type. Three hair colors.” His voice is serious but calm.

“Well,” you try to think of something else to say, hoping he’ll forget this whole subject and go back to eating cookies. You’d hand him the whole damn tray if he’d just drop it. It doesn’t look like you’re going to get that lucky. 

“I don’t know,” you say, a little too irritated, “pretty. Really pretty. With a perfect body. Something like that.”

He pulls the towel out of your hands where you're wiping the same spot on the counter for the millionth time. “And how does that not describe you?”

You flatten your palms on the counter and lean onto them, looking down at the stainless steel. You want to hide. You do not want to be patronized by an archangel. You’re not in the mood.

“Please, Gabe. I know what I am, don’t even try it.”

You don’t look at him as you turn to walk to the refrigerator, meaning to pull the salad out. He grabs your wrist before you can get by him.

“What do you mean, what you are? What are you talking about?”

Son of a bitch, he’s got you at arm's length, literally. You almost want to look at him but you can’t do it. This is not going well, you can already feel your throat getting tight. 

“I don’t know,” you pull your wrist out of his grasp and rub where his fingers were. His grip wasn’t tight, but his touch was too much somehow.

“You do know.” There's a tenseness in his voice, not anger, but something you haven't heard before.

You finally make it to the fridge and pull the salad out, but then you’re trapped because the only place to take it is back to the counter. And that’s where he is. You stare into the bowl as you walk. _Don’t look at him. Whatever you do, don’t look him in the eye._

“I just know I’m not those things. I’m just-” you sit the bowl down and move to check the oven, “I’m not pretty like that, I don’t have the perfect body. I know it and I accept it. It’s fine.”

He watches as you sit the sheet of cookies on the stove and slip off the oven mitt, and then he’s suddenly in your space like never before. It happens so fast you can’t even react. His hands are on your face and he’s pulling it up to meet his eyes, and before he even says anything you can feel the tears threatening to rise. 

“Listen,” he shakes your face gently, like he’s trying to get your attention, “are you listening to me?”

You nod, your head barely moving between his hands. 

“You are beautiful. You are absolutely beautiful, don’t you know that?”

Your hand covers his without thinking. You’re not going to cry, dammit. You won’t. 

“I’ve heard that all my life. _She could be so pretty if she just lost weight. She’s pretty in the face but she needs to lose a few pounds,_ and by a few they mean like, thirty, forty, fifty, whatever. Like I said, I know what I am and I accept it. I’m fine.” Your eyes are swimming in tears now, but you’re still trying not to let them fall. You have to keep some shred of dignity here, as little as that may seem.

You'd swear something flashes in his eyes. It's so fast you can't be certain, gone before you can actually see it. “Bullshit. Who said that?”

“What do you want, a list of names?” You laugh a little to fakely when he nods. “That’s sweet. You gonna hunt them down?”

“One by one, I guarantee every single one of them is ugly.”

“No, they’re aren’t. Most of them were really good looking actually, guys and girls both.”

“Not on the inside they’re not.” He takes a small step closer, just his feet move, but you still swallow thickly. “What do I need to say to convince you?”

“It’s nice of you to try, but there’s really nothing. I know you're flirting is just for fun, I’m okay with it,” you take a deep breath and before you can really think it through words are spilling from your mouth. “I’ve started to have a little crush on you though, I’m sorry. I try not to.” You instantly feel like you’re going to throw up. What in the hell possessed you to actually say that to him?

He smiles then, a real smile, right at you. Your heart feels like it might explode, and you close your eyes not to see it anymore. 

“A crush, huh?” He sounds amused, and that turns your stomach sour. You seriously wonder if you will throw up, the thought of him laughing at your feelings is more hurtful than you could have imagined, and you try to pull away from him. “Huh uh, you’re not going anywhere. Open your eyes.” His tone doesn’t leave room for escape and you know it. 

When you look at him the tears are already falling.

He searches your face, his eyes a little lost. “Why are you crying?”

You wrench away finally, desperate to be out of his grasp, out of this room, out of this situation. You wipe at your face with the bottom of your apron. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

And then he’s in your face again. He doesn’t touch you this time, but when you try to back up there’s nowhere to go unless you climb up on the counter. 

“It’s not fine. Talk to me, tell me.” 

“Dammit, Gabe, don’t make me say it,” you choke out, but there seems to be a disconnect between your brain and your mouth, the words are already coming. “I just- I’ve seen your porn, and I know what the women look like that you’re with, and I’m definitely not one of those women. I’m fat, I don’t like my body, and yeah I know I’m the only one that can change it but it’s fucking hard-” the tears are streaming now, you can’t make them stop.

“And even when I do lose weight I always gain it back, and then I hate myself even more for it. I wish-” you wipe at your face with your hands, feeling ridiculous for having this meltdown. “I wish I didn’t like you, and I know you flirt me with because it’s what you do. You flirt with everybody, I know it doesn’t mean anything. But I hate myself for wishing it did. I’m so stupid.” 

You raise your eyes to the ceiling, willing the tears to stop. They won’t, now that they’ve started they’ll be falling for hours. If he would just go away it would help, but he doesn’t budge. 

“You think I flirt with everyone?”

That’s what he took away from what you said. Of all things. You could laugh if it wasn’t so ridiculous. He didn’t even _try_ to deny that you’re not his type, he just skimmed right over that.

“It’s-” you shake your head, faking another smile, “I don’t really want to talk about this. I’m going to finish cooking and go to bed.”

“No,” he doesn’t back away, he doesn’t flinch, he just stares at you.

“No?”

“No, I don’t flirt with everyone like I flirt with you.”

You break eye contact, maintaining that smile that feels like it might break your face. “Right, okay. Whatever you say. Can I finish cooking now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out how to show you that I like you and make you _believe_ it. Because I’ve been trying to do that for weeks and you almost had me convinced I’d been friend zoned. And now you tell me you like me, and in the same breath you say that I can’t like you back. So I’m saying no. No. I’m not accepting that answer.”

Your mouth falls open, you know it happens and it probably looks like you’re catching flies, but you can’t seem to close it. He can’t possibly be serious. There’s no way.

“That- what you saw-” he’s actually stumbling over his words, “when did you watch my porn? I don’t-” he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, nevermind, that’s not important. I need you to know that that’s not real, those women, they look like that because that’s what they were casting for that day. That doesn’t mean that’s what I _like_.”

The tears are still falling and you swipe at them again. “So you’re telling me I’m your type? Me? Come on, Gabe. You can have anyone.”

“First off, I don’t have a type. I like what I like. And second of all, yes, _you_. How many times do I have to say it?”

“I think you could say it a million and I still wouldn’t believe you.”

“Then let me show you,” he presses himself in close, his hand slipping to your hip, and you know what he means instantly.

You stare somewhere around his chest, frozen by his closeness. He’s intoxicating, and as much as you want to give in you try to keep your wits about you. 

“Please, Gabe, I don’t want a pity fuck.”

“Trust me, not one second of it will be pity, unless it’s on your end.”

That makes you laugh a little, even through the tears. 

“There’s that beautiful smile,” he presses a kiss to your temple. 

An ache blooms in your chest, a heaviness that promises a broken heart by the end of this conversation. 

“I don’t want you to see me,” the tears are hot on your face, and as much as you want to finish that sentence you can’t seem to add the final word. _Naked._

He knows though, his hand slipping around, low on your back. “Then wear the apron. I love this apron.”

That makes you throw your head back in a laugh, and his eyes are smiling as he watches you. 

“Let me finish dinner and then we’ll talk. Deal?”

He nods before stepping away, and then he snaps his fingers and he’s gone.

You breathe out a lungful of air you didn’t even know you were holding. “Shit,” you whisper to the empty room. Anxiety hits you like a hammer in the chest, it feels like you’re vibrating on the inside. 

He was serious. He’s actually serious about sleeping together. As much as you fantasize about just this scenario that’s at night, alone, in bed, when there’s no chance of it actually happening. But right now it’s 6:30 on a Thursday and this possibility is extremely real. 

Could you go through with it? No. _Yes_. Maybe. You don’t know. _Should_ you go through with it? That’s a bigger question. Probably not. But why? You don’t have an answer for that.

You pull out the bread and cut it into slices, taking out the minced garlic and butter mixture you made up earlier. You get it ready and put it in the oven to toast.

Setting the table is next, and by the time that’s done the bread is ready. You wander into the library and gather Sam and Dean, and then you’re sitting down to a meal you don’t think your stomach will let you eat. 

You stare at your plate. It looks delicious, but your stomach almost feels like it’s quivering from nerves. You force yourself to take a bite. 

“You okay?” Sam asks, studying you closely. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You almost mention something about Gabriel but instantly know that’s the wrong move. Neither brother would approve. They barely tolerate the archangel the way it is. 

“You don’t act fine.” Dean shoves tortellini into his mouth hungrily, “you sick?”

“No, I probably just ate too much cookie dough or something.”

Dean nods his understanding. “Been there. God, this is good.” He pushes bread through the sauce and groans around the bite. 

“It really is,” Sam agrees, “you’re a good cook.”

“Thanks,” you try another bite. It is tasty but you almost feel like your full. Your anxiety is on red alert. “I never cooked much before I started staying here.”

“Really?” Sam’s surprise seems genuine.

“Never needed to, it was just me anyway.”

“You ready to get outta here, get back to your life?” Dean asks.

You shrug. “I don’t have much to go back to. I guess when you guys kick me out I’ll figure out what to do.”

“We’re not kicking you out,” Sam shakes his head, “you can live here indefinitely.”

It’s your turn to be genuinely surprised. You always figured you’d have to go back to the real world eventually. “Really? I don’t want to be a burden on you guys-”

Dean waves his fork to cut you off as Sam starts talking.

“No, you’re not a burden at all. It’s been a real help having you here to search for lore or information or whatever when we’re on the road. And you’ve been amazing helping me catalog the Men of Letters books and artifacts. I know we haven’t made a dent but without you I wouldn’t be anywhere near where we are. We’d love to have you here if you want to stay.”

That is some serious flattery. You never imagined you were really helping them, you kinda thought they felt sorry for you and they were just trying to include you in things. It boosts your spirit a little knowing that you’ve actually been a help.

“Yeah, all that. Plus you cook,” Dean adds. 

“Okay, well I don’t have any plans to leave, so I guess just tell me whenever you get tired of me and we’ll figure it out.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean says around a mouthful of food.

You smile and thank them, and the rest of the meal passes quietly. They insist on cleaning up, which leaves you nothing to do but head to your room. You have no idea when Gabriel will show up again, and you’ve almost convinced yourself that he won’t. 

**

It relieves a little anxiety to think that he wasn’t serious. That he just said all that to be nice. And now that he’s gone he’ll stay away, so he doesn’t have to face you and your silly crush on him.

You definitely don’t expect him to be laying on your bed when you open the door to your room. 

“Where’s the apron?” Those are the first words out of his mouth.

“In the kitchen. That’s where aprons go.” You shut the door behind you with a click that feels a little too decisive. 

“Don’t sass me, sweets,” he sits up, throwing his legs over to sit on the side of your bed. “Aprons go in the bedroom too, especially on someone who looks like you.”

You look down at the floor, studying your feet. You just did your toes and they look good in your flip flops. At least there’s that.

“I’m going to take a shower. The oven was on for hours and the kitchen got hot.” Avoid the subject. Your first line of defense. 

“So that’s it, huh? We’re not going to figure out what this is?”

You sigh, a little irritated as you make your way to your dresser, pulling open the top drawer. If he wants to talk about this you might as well get it over with. 

“Figure out what, Gabe. That I like you? That you say you like me too? That I have so many issues and hang ups that as much as I like you I can’t imagine going there? Is that what we’re figuring out?”

His hand is on your wrist and you didn’t even know that he’d stood up from the bed. He’s behind you, his thumb working softly on the sensitive skin below your palm. 

“That’s exactly what we’re figuring out,” his voice is lower than normal.

You don’t turn and look at him, you stare down into your underwear drawer just letting yourself feel his touch. “We’ve never even been on a date. Are we skipping that?”

“We don’t have to. Is that important? Where do you wanna go? Paris? Rome?”

You smile to yourself. Of course that’s what he’d suggest, he’s so over the top sometimes. You turn to him a little, but your eyes are still focused down. “No, it’s not important. We’ve spent enough time together. I know how I feel.”

His hand slips into yours, his fingers lacing between. “So do I. So why can’t we do this?” He hooks a finger under your chin and pulls it up, his eyes questioning.

And any resistance you had melts away when you look into his face. He’s looking back at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, and you actually feel like you are for a second. You smile, looking at his mouth, wanting to kiss him so much that those butterflies go into a frenzy. 

“Let me shower, I’ll be back.”

He lets your chin go and breaks his hand away, and then he springs onto your bed and puts his hands behind his head. He crosses his legs at the ankle and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll be waiting.”

You turn back to your underwear drawer and for the first time in a long time you wish there was something new and sexy in there. You grab a bra and panties, and then yank out some pajamas and your robe. 

You slip out the bedroom door and down to the bathroom without another word. You have to remind yourself what to actually do in the shower. Your nerves are so on edge you can’t remember how to do your normal routine. 

You blow your hair dry, not wanting to deal with wet pillows. As you stare in the mirror you once again wish you had something better to put on than old pajamas and underwear. When you turn around to dress you finally notice the lingerie hanging on the back of the door. 

A gorgeous black teddy, sheer lace at the top and tied up with little pink bows over your nipples. Pink hearts cover the baby doll skirt, and frilly black lace panites are there to match, When you get them on you can’t help but feel sexy, and you wish you had a full length mirror to check yourself out. 

Probably a good thing you don’t have one, knowing you you wouldn’t like what you see. You wonder how he knew you wanted something sexy to wear. Did he read your mind? Can he read your mind? Probably. That thought’s a little weird and you push it away. 

You slip your robe on just in case you run into Sam and Dean on the way back to your room. It’s doubtful, they gave you a room and a bathroom in a hall they rarely go down just for your privacy, but you still wouldn’t go traipsing around in lingerie.

You cross the hall and hesitate outside your door. Do you really want to go through with this? Yes. Absolutely. You just wish you didn’t have so many hang ups about your body. But if Gabe is ok with it then you know you need to let it go. You take a deep cleansing breath before you turn the knob and walk into the room. 

He’s laying in the same spot, still fully dressed and watching the door. His eyes flash up and down as you push the door shut and then press back against it. It’s now or never. You know he put the lingerie there, which means he wants to see you in it. 

You untie the robe, slipping the belt apart, and then let it fall off your shoulders and to the floor. It pools around your feet, warm on the cold tile floor. You feel extremely bare and more exposed than ever in your life, but his eyes are eating you up. 

“Oh, sugar, I thought that apron looked good but it’s got nothin’ on this.” He slides off the bed and walks to you, his feet spreading to stand outside yours and not step on your robe. You know because you’re looking at the floor. “You okay?” He asks.

You nod a little. “Yeah, I’m just-” you don’t even know what you are. Embarrassed? Freaked out?

“You’re what?” His hand slips up the back of your forearm and you watch it. “Do you want to slow down?”

“No, it’s not that,” you meet those eyes and feel a little lost, “you’re just seeing everything that I don’t like and it makes me feel…” The words trail away, and you let them. If you go into that you’re afraid you’ll cry again, and this isn’t a time for tears. 

“I wish you could see what I see, there’s not one thing I don’t like.” His hand slips higher and you tense a little, making him pause. “How ‘bout this, why don’t you tell me what you don’t like? And I’ll tell you what I do like.”

He’s so close. His mouth is so close, and that first kiss is almost all you can think about right now. But he doesn’t move himself closer, his just looks into your eyes, his hand still on your arm. 

“I don’t,” you hesitate, what should you tell him? Where do you start? “I don’t like my arms. They’re too big and I wish I could wear long sleeves all the time, but then I get hot and irritated.”

His hands move to your shoulders and slowly slide down each arm, he steps back slightly, so he can watch his hands trailing down. You want to flinch but you hold still, waiting on what he’ll say. 

“These arms?” His fingers hit the inside of your wrists again, and then he’s gently pulling your arms up and over your head. He pins them there, crossed at the wrists. You could pull them away, he’s not forcing you, but you don’t want to move. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about these arms? I think about them wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer when I kiss you, holding onto me, not letting me go. I have quite a few fantasies about these arms.” His mouth slides over the inside of your right elbow and it’s so sensitive it makes you pull in a breath. He smiles at that, kissing his way up and down your arm. 

You watch him, amazed by the attention he’s paying to something you’ve always been desperate to hide. His face is so close, his hair just inches away. He smells sweet, with a hint of woods. Clean and almost like a thunderstorm somehow. 

“You smell good,” you whisper.

His eyes turn to you, intense and focused. “Do I?”

You nod at him and he smiles, just a quirk up one side of his mouth.

“Tell me something else that bothers you.”

“Uhhh,” you have to think, which isn’t easy to do with him so close. He’s near your neck and it makes you want to stretch and angle it, make it look thinner. “My neck, I have a double chin.”

He lets go of your wrists and your arms fall down to rest around his shoulders. 

“This neck?” His face pushes into the crook under your ear, his nose sliding over skin. “This neck gives me all kinds of dirty thoughts.” His breath is hot and heavy on your skin.

“Is that all you have, dirty thoughts?” You can’t help a soft laugh as he nips your ear. 

“About you? Most of the time,” he whispers into your neck. “I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?” His face moves up, stopping just beside your lips, and then you turn your head and he captures your mouth with his. 

First kisses have a tendency to be awkward. Exciting, but awkward none the less, and this one is no different. Your teeth bump, you don’t find each other’s rhythm at first, your mouth opening before his. But then he angles his head to the side and his arms slip around your lower back and _oh god it’s good._

Your hands slide into the hair at the back of his neck and it’s soft and perfect and you can’t help but tug on it. His hands tighten and push you into him and his tongue is dancing with yours in the most perfect way. Kisses like this are few and far between, it’s one of those you never want to end. 

Neither does he apparently, because he’s in no rush to end it. His hands roam your back, sliding up under the lace band of the bra, around your ribs and then up to your shoulders. 

Your hands are in his hair, on his face, his arms, anywhere you can touch. Your growing frustration with the amount of clothes he’s still wearing is taking over, and you pull your hands down the front of his shirt. You work the buttons open one by one, until you can get your hands on the skin of his stomach and chest. He growls at the contact, finally breaking the kiss to pull back and look at you. 

His pupils are blown, almost none of the golden brown showing anymore. You push the shirt down his shoulders and he wrestles it off, back to kissing you as soon as it’s tossed aside. His hands on your face, his feet stepping as close as he can get, pressing you fully together. 

Your hands are free to explore the skin of his back now, down his sides, up his arms, and you can’t get enough. He’s pressing his chest into yours like he can’t get close enough. 

His mouth breaks away, kissing a line over your cheekbone to your ear. “Shit, you can kiss,” he growls.

Your breathless and more turned on from a kiss than you’ve ever been in your life. “Yeah, so can you.”

He steps back suddenly, making you feel abandoned. He seems to sense what you’re feeling and he holds a finger up.

“Just slowing myself down. I want to take my time with you.” His eyes roam over you. 

Your chest is heaving, still out of breath, and you shove your hair out of your face from where his hands were in it. Your eyes take him in, his bare chest and stomach, strong arms. He looks a little bit mussed himself, which is pretty satisfying.

“Damn if you aren’t beautiful like that.”

Surprisingly you’re starting to believe him. “Yeah, you look pretty good yourself.”

He rubs his palms on his thighs like his hands are sweating. “Tell me something else, I like proving you wrong.”

You push your shoulders back, trying to be confident. “My thighs.”

“ _What_?” The disbelief on his face is obvious. 

You look down at your legs and notice the robe still rumpled at your feet. You kick it away, knowing what he’s going to do, and he does.

He steps close again and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you. He’s looking up, making sure you’re watching him. 

His hands slide around the back of your calves and start a slow climb. “How can you not like these thighs? I love thick thighs and these are perfect,” he runs his nose up the front of your left thigh.

“I have cellulite,” is all you say. You could go on but you don’t need to, he understands. And besides, his mouth is kissing up your inner thigh and who feels like talking right now? 

“I’ve had so many naughty, _naughty_ fantasies about these thighs wrapped around my head.” He inhales as his nose moves higher. “I want to bury my face between them, make you scream my name.”

Oh _shit._ It’s like he’s pulling ideas from your head. His hands are on the backs of your thighs now and if he notices the cellulite he obviously doesn’t care. And then his hands cup your ass and squeeze and your hands are twisting in his hair. 

“I actually like my ass,” you say, your head falling back to thud against the door. 

“That makes two of us,” he’s kissing all up and down your legs and leaving no place untouched. “Love to watch that ass when you bend over. Makes me want to take a bite.” 

You smile, your confidence boosting, and you decide to tell him something else you like. “I like my boobs too.”

He gently presses a kiss to the junction of your thighs, so soft it’s barely felt, and then he’s moving slowly up. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back there in a minute.” His mouth is talking into your belly as he licks and nips his way up. “I like those boobs too, I want to spend some time with them.”

You tense when he gets to your stomach, wanting him to be anywhere but there. He feels your reaction and his hands spread over the soft flesh, his mouth pressed to your belly button. 

“Gabe, don’t-” Your eyes are on the ceiling, not wanting to look at him. Your anxiety over your body is hitting you hard and you can’t let yourself relax like before. 

“Why?”

You don’t answer, eyes locked up and away. What are you supposed to say? You hate your stomach? That it's disgusting? Because it’s fat? Flabby? Because it has stretch marks? Because it’s not flat and perfect and tiny? This was a bad idea, trying to be comfortable with your body, with him. Tears are threatening again.

“Can you fix it?” Tears are stinging, burning as you try to push them back. 

He stands, his hands gently cupping your face. “Fix what?”

Your throat is tight when you try to speak, your eyes looking at his shoulder. “My body.” You voice breaks on the second word and you lose your vision to a sea of tears.

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, wiping the tears away. “Sweetheart, there's nothing to fix.” He pushes your face up, you'd be looking at him if you could see.

“I hate it, Gabe. I want to be beautiful.” 

“You are,” his thumbs push the tears away again, his hands have to be soaked. “Why can’t you see that you're perfect the way you are.”

You're trying to stop the tears, this is not what you wanted. This isn't sexy, but it's probably best that he sees what a mess you are now before it goes too far. 

“I'm sorry,” you finally manage. 

“I'm not. Do you want this? We don’t have to do this.” 

Your stomach drops, the tears almost breaking you. This is a disaster and it’s completely your fault. He’s being wonderful and you’re having an emotional breakdown because he touched your stomach, for shit’s sake. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling your head to his shoulder. “Do you want to stop?”

You can’t speak; not yet, so a small shake of your head is how you answer. 

“Then we won’t.” One hands rubs the back of your neck, the other holds you closely, low on your back. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. We’re not in any rush.” His patience is incredible, holding you close to try to comfort you. He just waits. He waits for the tears to dry. 

“This is so stupid,” you finally manage to sob into his shoulder. 

“No, it’s not stupid and neither are you.”

You pull away a little, wiping at your face. “Why do you even want me?” The tears threaten to take you over again but you fight them. 

His hands are on your hips now, his body still so close. “Why _wouldn’t_ I want you?” He searches your face. His brown eyes are so beautiful, flecks of gold catching in the light. And suddenly he moves and sweeps you up into his arms. This is new. You’ve never been the kinda girl that guys carry around, sweep off their feet, throw over their shoulder. It serves as a reminder that he’s not a guy. He’s not a man. He’s an angel. 

He slowly carries you to the bed and lays you down, laying himself alongside you. He’s on his side, his head propped on his arm as he looks into your eyes. He sighs softly.

“There are so many reasons I want you. Where do I start? Because you’re intelligent, for one. You’re that sexy smart that doesn’t let it show and then devastates me with how sharp you are. You know that though, you know you’re smart.”

You smile shyly, but he’s not wrong. 

“And you’re funny. And you laugh at my jokes, no matter how bad they are. Your laugh, when you laugh with your whole body, I swear my world stops.” He pushes a piece of hair off your forehead, his mouth turning up in a mischievous grin when you blush. “And you’re kind. You’re kind to everyone, even those knucklehead Winchesters.”

“Gabe, they saved me. They’re letting me stay--”

He puts a finger over your lips to quiet you. “Just listen. Listen to what I’m saying. You’re like a breath of fresh air, that’s why I look forward to seeing you. It’s why I look for an excuse to come here. Why else do you think I show up to watch movies with you? I’ve never done that with a human, did you know that?”

You shake your head, wanting to interrupt, wanting to make him stop being so nice. It makes you feel slightly awkward, uncomfortable even, but you won’t interrupt him again.

“I love talking to you. I love seeing you smile. And yes, you’re beautiful, on the inside and out. But I swear on the gates of Heaven,” he holds his hand over his chest like he’s making an oath, “you are absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous and that’s the least interesting thing about you.”

His face is honest and open, you know this isn’t him being over the top, no Trickster grandiose words. This is true, it’s how he feels, and you believe him. You try to open your mouth to speak but there’s nothing there, so you close it. 

After a few moments you finally tell him. “I don’t know what to say to all that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t say anything.” 

You roll to your side, facing him, and put your hand on his cheek. You could cry again at what he said, but these tears would be different. These wouldn’t be tears full of sadness or pain, these would be tears of joy and appreciation. This time you won’t cry though, you know you won’t. You smile at him instead, and he smiles back. 

He doesn't speak, just leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t. You let him kiss you because you want it. Because you’ve wanted it for so long and because it’s good. It’s _so good_. 

Your arms lock behind his neck, holding him tightly to you. The tears, the panic, the pain, all forgotten in an instant. He moans as you deepen the kiss, his hands taking your ass in their grip. He shoves your hips into his and you can feel his hard length pressing into your belly. _Fuck,_ if that doesn’t make you want to speed this up. 

His hands move up, grazing over your back, and then they’re on your sides. You loosen your hold on him and he pulls slightly away, his forehead pressing to yours. He holds your eyes as his hands move over your stomach, up and down and across, and then they move up to cup your breasts.

“So perfect,” he breathes against your cheek, “you’re so soft.” 

You let your hands slide down his bare stomach to the waist of his jeans, running your fingers around to grip his ass, smiling into his eyes as you do. “I like your ass.”

That gets a chuckle from him. His thumbs flick your nipples through the barely there lace and you gasp. His forehead grinds into yours at the sound. 

Your hands work on the button of his jeans, pulling it open and sliding the zipper down as he watches their movement between you. His eyes close as your hand slides inside the fabric and gently grips him. 

He’s rock hard, pulse throbbing in his cock, and his mouth opens slightly when you move him into your grip. He’s velvety soft, hot and thick, and you already want to taste him. You use light feathery touches on the head, making tight lines form by his eyes, and then his mouth is on yours and he’s grinding into your stomach for friction.

“Fuck,” he mumbles into your hair, and really you couldn’t have said it better yourself. Because _fuck,_ he’s still half dressed and you’re still wearing a teddy and a pair of panties and you’ve never been this turned on when you were completely naked with someone and this? This hasn’t really even started yet.

His hand slips over the outside of your panties as he kisses you. You roll slightly to your back to give him access between your legs, and he pushes his weight onto you. Yes. _Yes._ You want him so much, and then he’s pulling back again.

“Gotta slow myself down,” he nips your lip, “you get me too amped up.” 

That gets a smile from you. “We don’t have to slow down.”

“Oh, Sugar, yes we do, and it’ll be worth the wait,” his voice is low and husky and the promise in it makes you shiver. His fingers are just barely tracing over the lace between your thighs, teasing and making you want more. His hand slips over yours and he gently pushes it down below your waist. “Show me what you like.” 

“What?” This is something new. Never has a guy ask you for this before. They’ve always just done whatever they wanted down there. Some of them were good at it, some not so much, but your enjoyment wasn’t usually their priority anyway.

“I can’t read your mind,” he kisses your neck softly, and then nips it, making your breath hitch. “Well I could, do you want me to?”

“I thought you already did, how’d you know about the lingerie?”

“I didn’t. It’s just something I wanted to see you in.” He pauses his attention to your neck. “Will you show me?”

Like you’d deny him. You slip your hand under the lace and between your legs and start slow, on the outside. Pressure, circles, tease yourself a little bit. 

He stops everything he’s doing and watches your hand. You can see his pupils blown wide, and he presses his cock into your thigh. It’s still trapped in his pants and you really wish you’d gotten him out of those a long time a ago.

You slip a finger between your folds, getting it wet. It glides easily now, lightly skimming your clit, but you don’t stay there long. You slip a finger inside, then a little more pressure with two fingers tracing circles. 

His hand slips inside your panties now, right over top of yours, so he can follow what you’re doing. He learns it quickly, following your fingers as his guide, and you don’t even know how it happens but at some point you realize your hand isn’t even down there anymore. It’s just him, perfect pressure, perfect patterns, and there’s a heat rising in your belly.

Your fingers dig into his bicep, strong and thick, and he turns his head into your neck again. He starts kissing his way down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, licking a line down your chest. He reaches the teddy and he pulls the pink ribbon open, untieing it with his teeth. His hot tongue laps at your nipple, making your hands yank at his hair. 

“You like that?”

You’re not sure what he’s asking. Do you like his kissing? The nipping? What he’s doing with his hands? Yeah. You do. All of it. 

You look down into his eyes, they’re dark with desire for you and you’re starting to feel sexy. Really sexy. “Yes,” is all you manage to whisper. 

He’s kissing lower, over your stomach, and where before you were uncomfortable now you relish it. He slowly settles down between your legs, licking and kissing at your sensitive inner thighs, making you push your hips down in an attempt to put him where you want him. 

His palms grip your ass as the heat of his tongue runs up the outside of the lace. His nose pushes toward your clit and you’ve never found a layer of clothing more irritating in your life. You want the panties gone that second, that instant, and just as you move your hands to try to slip them off you hear them ripping. 

His hands are in the waist, slowing tearing the delicate lace apart. He rips them to pieces while he stares up at you, and when he’s finally rid you of the offending lace you watch him lower his mouth to your mound. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, “I’m gonna make it purr for me.” His tongue teases outside your lips. You’re already wet, but when his tongue pushes between your folds you know you’ve never been this wet before. You never wanted someone this much before. Which reminds you of something he probably needs to know…

“Gabe,” you look down at him again but he doesn’t stop, his tongue lightly grazing your clit. You fight to keep your head up when it wants to fall back to the bed. “I need to tell you something-”  
He laves his tongue heavily back and forth and the moan that escapes your throat is something you’ve never heard. You try once again to say what’s on your mind. 

“I have a hard time getting off with someone else,” you look at him again and he raises an eyebrow. Your hands grab his hair as he swirls a circle around that sensitive nub. What you’re saying might actually be pointless but you figure he still needs to know. 

“Like, I never have, it’s just really- I don’t want you to spend hours down there--” his tongue is broad and flat as it licks a stripe from bottom to top, and you forget why you thought any of this was ever important. It’s not. The only important thing is his tongue and the miracles he can work with it. 

“Nevermind,” you manage, “oh fuck,” and then your head falls back and you’re absolutely lost. He’s in no rush, taking his time, absolutely worshiping your clit like the sun and the moon rises from there. He slips a finger inside you and you moan as he strokes in a ‘come hither’ motion. 

“Yes, God, you’re so good at that,” you pant. Your hips are moving on their own now, you couldn’t hold still if you wanted to. Your hands are holding him in place a he rolls slow circles around the nub and you rock on his face, feeling your slow rise to the peak starting. 

You whine, yanking on his hair a little too hard but he doesn’t seem to notice. A coil is building in your belly, twisting and knotting with heat, and you’re whispering to him without even realizing it. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, Gabe, yes, don’t stop, please, I’m so close, yes, please yes, right- just like that, I’m gonna come, that’s it, I’m- _fuuuuck_ ,” and the dam breaks as you writhe and grit your teeth against the onslaught of pleasure. You’re clenching around his finger and he’s not stopping, and with each movement of his tongue your muscles twist and tighten again and again until you ask him to stop. 

Your arm is thrown over your eyes as you try to come down from the high. You’re out of breath and feel a little floaty. 

He moves up to lay beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You good, sugar?”

You nod, panting softly. You’re better than good. Good is and understatement. You let your arm fall to your side and look at him. He looks pretty damn pleased with himself. 

You push him to his back and he actually looks surprised. You lower your face to his chest and kiss a line down to his stomach, over his belly button, and lower still until you hit the open waist of his pants. 

You tug on the pants and he raises his hips so you can take them off. You shimmy down the bed and pull them off his feet, tossing them aside. You crawl back up to him and kiss down low on his belly. 

You lick and kiss around the base of his cock while his hands twist in your hair. You glance up at him and meet his eyes. “I like my hair too,” you say, liking the way his fingers are massaging your scalp. 

He smirks. “Me too.” And then you watch his eyes close as you lick a strip from the base of his cock to the tip. His breath is forced out in a huff as you slip your mouth over the head and suck gently. 

You make a circle with your fingers around the base of his shaft, holding it right where you want it, and then you lower your mouth slowly down his length. You bob your head, slicking him up, and you smile around his thickness when his hands tighten in your hair. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, “you look so good sucking my cock.”

You look up again to see him watching you and you hold his eyes as you push your mouth down until your nose is nestled in the tight curls at the base of his cock. He curls into himself, his mouth open as he huff out little, “ah, ah, ah,” sounds, and then you slide your mouth back up and he collapses back onto the bed. 

You start teasing, licking, flicking, sucking, bobbing and moaning around his cock and as you look up you revel in what a mess he is. 

“Yes, shit- yes, like that, good girl,” his hands rest on your head as he lifts his hips toward your face. 

You let him, opening your throat and timing your breathing to his thrusts, and soon he’s making whining noises as he fucks your face. 

“I’m close- I’m- fuck- I’m gonna come,” he doesn’t stop and you don’t want him to. “Is it okay- do you want me to come-” 

He’s trying to ask if he can come in your mouth, so you meet his eyes and don’t move, letting him know it’s perfectly ok. And then his rhythm is lost, his hips canting and stuttering up as his head rolls back. 

“Hhhnnnggg,” he manages as he spills down your throat. You swallow around him and he jerks violently. “Oh fuck, yes- fuck!” He collapses back into a heaving mess as you pop your mouth off with a satisfied grin at him. 

“You good, Gabe?” You ask as you move up to lay beside him. 

He chuckles at your words and meets your eyes. “I’m better than good. You fucking wrecked me, sweetheart.” He leans over and presses his mouth to yours, his tongue slipping out to taste himself on your lips. 

He groans and lays his weight on you, his hands slipping lower and between your legs. “Still so wet for me,” he says against your mouth, pushing two fingers in you and making you arch up off the bed. “You ready?”

You’ve never been more ready in your life. You nod. “Are you? Most guys need some time after they come.” Your hand wraps around his cock, still wet from your mouth, and you find him still rock hard. 

He smiles at you. “I’m not most guys.”

No, he’s not. You push him to his back again and throw your leg over him, sitting up to straddle him. The head of his cock is pressed at your entrance but you don’t move, not yet. 

He raises up, kissing you as his hands move to your back to pull the teddy off and throw it aside. His hands move to your hips then and he lays back, waiting for you to take control. 

You roll your hips, slowly slipping him inside you, and your eyes close at the sensation of him filling you up. He’s so thick, like he’s made to stretch you in just the right way, and your head falls back when he’s buried to the hilt. 

“Shit,” his hands move to your breasts to flick your nipples, “that pussy feels so good, like you’re made for me.”

You nod, your eyes still closed as you slowly rock your hips. He hisses as you slide up and back down again, and you roll your hips down to be sure you’re getting every possible centimeter of him inside you.

“Fuck, Gabe,” you whisper, your hands flat on his chest for support. You start a rhythm, bouncing slow and steady on his cock, and you can’t feel anything but that slow delicious slide of him inside you. 

“Yes, say my name,” his hands move to your face and you open your eyes to look at him. 

His eyes are hooded and half closed, his mouth parted, and he bites his lips as you slide down particularly hard. 

“Gabriel,” you moan, watching his eyes. There’s that spark again, the one you thought you saw in the kitchen. “Gabriel,” you whisper, and this time when his eyes spark you feel the hair raise on the back of your neck, like the static that surrounds lightening.

He pulls you down, locking his mouth to yours roughly, his hands holding your hips still as he slams up into you. He rolls, sliding out of you as he does, and the loss of him inside you makes you groan. His weight settles on top of you, his pelvis grinding into yours, and then his hand guides his cock back to your entrance and you bury your face into his neck with a sob. 

“Yes, fuck me, please…” You beg. He draws his hips back and slams home as you moan. 

“You’re killing me, sugar, you feel amazing. So hot and wet,” his voice is thick and heady and just the sound of it makes you clench around him. His hand grips your hip at the sensation and he slams into you

He finally raises up on his elbows and studies you. “If you ever feel like you’re not beautiful again you let me know, got it? I’ll be glad to show you.”

“So fucking good,” he growls. 

“Gabe,” you whisper, feeling that static electricity skip over your skin again. “Gabriel,’ fuck- Gabriel,” with each whisper of his name your nerves light up, and then his hand fists in your hair and pulls your head back until he can see your eyes. 

“You’re gonna make me come, love it when you say my name,” his eyes flash as you say it again, “so fucking hot when you want me,” he goes on, slamming into you as you almost chant his name. “Look at you, fuck- you like my cock? Gorgeous, never seen anything so beautiful, say my name, yes- yes-”

And you feel yourself rising again, that coil wrapping tighter and tighter in your belly with the filthy words spilling from his mouth. He’s close too and you know it, his face tight and intense as he watches you. 

“You gonna come? Come with me,” it’s a question but also a command, and when you whisper his name again his eyes turn to a golden amber glow. Electricity zips over you, and when it hits your clit you actually see stars. You clench around him and he calls out, his hips shoving into you so hard he actually shoves you up the bed. 

You’re practically screaming yourself, unable to control it. Your hands tear at his back and sides, trying to hold on because it somehow feels like you might float away. 

He collapses on top of you as he comes down, his head resting in your neck as he tries to catch his breath. “Fuck me, that was good,” he says. 

You nod because you can’t do anything else, you’re too out of breath from the intensity of it. You trail your fingers over his skin as you pant. You smile a little, unsure of what he means. Is that all this was? Is it over now? Because that’s not what you thought going into this. “Yeah, okay,” you say, trying to move him to the side of you. 

“No, not okay,” he doesn’t budge, “what’s going on in your head?”

You clear your throat, feeling a little trapped under him. “I just- I don’t know. Where do we go from here, I guess?”

“Well, I could probably eat some cookies right now, so how ‘bout the kitchen?”

He can always make you laugh somehow. “I doubt there’s any left, I didn’t hide them from Dean.”

“Bastard,” Gabriel growls in irritation, rolling to his side. 

“That’s not what I meant anyway,” you look down at your nakedness, noticing a handprint on your hip. _That’s fucking hot,_ you can’t help thinking.

“I know what you meant,” his hands run through his hair, taming a little of the wildness. He rolls to you, looking down your body with a satisfied grin. “I’m not going anywhere, you’re stuck with me until you can’t stand me anymore, sugar.”

Your heart flips a little in your chest. “I don’t see that happening.”

His arms snakes behind you and pulls you in, and he buries his face in your hair as he inhales. “Just wait,” he says softly, “you’ll get sick of me soon enough. Until then I plan on wining and dining you. What’s that saying? Wine, dine and sixty nine? Yeah, we’ll be doing that too.”

You smile into his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

He rolls away and stands, stretching beside the bed. “Get dressed, let’s snap out of here and get some ice cream.”

You stretch out on the bed, not wanting to move. “Really? Now? How about if we just stay home and I make brownies or something.”

He looks down at you, watching your movements. “Home?” His eyebrows raise at the word.

You watch him looking at you and feel a little satisfied with his expression. “Yeah, Sam and Dean mentioned it over dinner. They said they’d like for me to stay.”

“Stay?”

You nod, sliding to stand in front of him. “Indefinitely. Sam said he likes my help with cataloging all the Men of Letters stuff, and Dean said he likes my cooking.” You smile at that. 

“Yes, I imagine he does.” Something close to jealousy flashes across Gabriel’s face, so fast you wonder if you really saw it.

“Hey, he didn’t mean it like that,” you wait until Gabriel looks at you and his face softens before you go on, “he did say that if you hurt me he’d have to kill you though, so you better watch it.”

His eyes dance. “He only wishes he could kill me, probably would have done it a long time ago if he could.”

You move closer, laying your head on his shoulder, arms slipping around his neck. “Maybe if you cool it on the pranks a little you’d all get along better.”

He laughs softly. “Man, that hair removal crème in Sam’s shampoo was pretty funny.”

You hide your smile, not wanting to encourage him. “I think it was easier to laugh about once you snapped his hair back. Seriously though, if this is going to be my home maybe it could kinda be yours too? You know, when you’re not snapping around the world doing whatever it is you do.”

His arms wrap around your lower back. “A home, huh?”

“Yeah, if you want…”

He hums in satisfaction and you figure that’s pretty close to a yes. Probably as close as he’s ever come to settling down, having a home.

“How do you feel about round two?” His voice is lower and his arms wrap a little tighter around your waist.

You tug a little on that soft hair at the base of his neck. “I feel pretty good, but didn’t you mention something about ice cream?”

He chuckles, his mouth dropping to your neck to suck on your pulse point. That’s gonna leave a mark, not that you care. “How about we combine the two?” You hear that all too familiar snap of his fingers and turn to see your bed covered in ice cream cartons.

“What the-- there’s no way we can eat all of this! It’s going to melt everywhere!”

“Nonsense,” he whispers, “you’re about to be introduced to my kinky side.”

“Oh lord,” you mumble as he pushes you back towards the bed.

“If you’re taking notes, using my father’s name in the bedroom is _not_ one of my kinks.”

You can’t help but lose your breath laughing at that. “Noted,” you finally manage, as he snaps up a spoon and feeds you vanilla ice cream. “Vanilla? Really? Is that all you got?”

“No, but we’re starting there because it’s one thing I can promise you our sex life will never be.” His eyes crinkle at the corners while he appreciates your laughter. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

You nod, taking another bite from the spoon. “I was born ready.”

And he falls on to the bed, pulling you with him into a mess of sticky and sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tough one guys. When I originally had the idea for this I was so excited. Yes, I know there are other Gabe/Plus Size Reader fics out there, and they’re great, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to take a shot at it. So I asked for input, what are your insecurities about your own body? I know mine but I needed more than that. So many people responded, and a huge thank you to all that did. I appreciate it so much and I want to hug you all.
> 
> Some of that was hard to read, I won’t lie. And when I started writing and putting this thing down it opened up and emotional shit storm I didn’t know I had inside me. Seriously, there were moments I had to get up and walk away, try to calm down, because I was crying so hard. It hurt, and parts of this were not fun for me, but I think once I was done with it I felt a little bit of healing somehow. Am I over my body image issues? Was I cured of my insecurities and fears? No. Hell no. But somehow writing this was kind of a journey (I know, I sound like a walking cliché), and I feel better now that I’ve reached the end of it.
> 
> To any ladies out there reading this and seeing yourself in it: I hope I did it justice. I hope you enjoy reading it. I hope you know that your weight, your body, does not define you. What you weigh is not the deciding factor on someone loving you, or on you loving yourself. Trust me, I’ve been up and down the scale. I know that from experience. If someone makes you feel like you aren’t worthy of love because of your body, FUCK THEM.
> 
> As always, a huge shout out to Waterkiss. She was my shoulder to cry on in this and I appreciate her more than she knows. Thank you for being there. <3


End file.
